No Reservations
by Bonsoir
Summary: FE9/10. She kept her eyes firmly on the plate she was washing, traced the chip in it with her thumb, and glanced up briefly, as if acknowledging his presence, before her gaze returned to her hands. "I think we should get married." (Haar and Jill for Krad, who was my recipient for the FE Exchange this holiday season.)


**Title:** No Reservations  
**Characters:** Haar, Jill, mention of others  
**Genre:** Romance, Friendship  
**Words:** 3,506  
**Notes:** This was written for Krad for the FE Exchange, which was hosted on Tumblr this year. Notes for this 'fic can be found on Tumblr. (I will put a link in my profile, in case anyone is interested.) Also, a thousand thanks to Kyusil for the beta job on this; without her help, this thing would be a jumbled, confusing mess. I'd really appreciate feedback for this one.

* * *

"Haar?"

Jill didn't look up even as the question left her lips. She had waited for the perfect moment to speak, and this was it: while her hands were wet and starting to prune from sitting in the dishwater too long.

"Hm?" His answer was typically Haar, of course. To expect anything else would be foolish. She saw his wrist and hand come into view as he slid another dish into the water.

She kept her eyes firmly on the plate she was washing, traced the chip in it with her thumb, and glanced up briefly, as if acknowledging his presence, before her gaze returned to her hands. "I think we should get married."

The half-beat pause in his step as he walked back toward the table to retrieve the last of the dishes didn't escape her notice.

"You do, do you?" he asked.

The silence between them lasted for several seconds before she could feel his warmth beside her and she felt his hand brush her arm as he submerged the small cooking pot in her dishwater.

"Yes," she finally answered, and made herself look up at him.

He didn't know what to say in response, or maybe he didn't feel one was necessary. The silence between them stretched on and she lost herself in the sound of the washcloth against the sides of the cast-iron pot.

"You're serious," he said, more a statement than a question, though she thought there was a lingering confusion in his words.

"Of course I'm serious. Why wouldn't I be?"

But he didn't reply to that. He only said, after another pause, "Let's talk about this tomorrow. It's late, and I'm tired."

"Good night, then," she said, trying not to pout, because pouting did not become a woman of her age or acquired rank. Still, it hurt to be brushed aside like that, and by Haar, of all people, who always listened to her and always gave sound advice.

"We'll talk about this later." His voice floated back to her from the hall, interrupted midway through by a yawn.

Jill gave a noncommittal grunt of acknowledgement and ignored the ache of her jaw as she grit her teeth, unsure if she was more hurt than she was angry.

Later? What was later? In the morning or the next night or three years down the road when she had already given up on meaning anything to anyone? If Haar didn't care about her, after all they'd been through together, then who else would bother?

When the door to Haar's room closed with an audible squeal, Jill sighed into the inside of her elbow where her sleeve was bunched up. A long moment passed while she stood there, breathing through the fabric to force a calm to settle over herself, and then she focused on scrubbing the dishes until she couldn't pretend to find spots she had previously missed.

* * *

The minute it took to walk from the kitchen to his room felt like an eternity, but the click of the bedroom door closing behind him allowed Haar the freedom of letting out the breath he had been holding. It was only when he opened his eye again that he raked one hand, surprisingly steady, back through his hair. Jill's comment had probably added to the grey coloring at his temples, but he readied himself for bed without looking in the mirror.

For the first time since his return to Talrega, however, sleep eluded him. It was odd to once again lie in bed with thoughts clouding his mind. War left him sleepless at night and exhausted during the day, but the wars were over.

"Too much like a woman," he had been teased, once, "thinking nonsense instead of sleeping."

Haar was sure that gender had nothing to do with it, and concern for the lives of others could hardly be considered nonsense. Both wars had tangled all of them in something much bigger than themselves; to act careless was one thing, but to _be_ careless was something else entirely. Even so, a person could take as much care as they wanted and still end up short an eye—or worse.

It was natural to have trouble sleeping when so much was at stake.

"I just keep thinking," Jill whispered to him when she saw her father's grave for the first time, "that maybe I could have talked him into joining sides with Crimea." And then, when he put a hand on her shoulder, she turned to look at him, eyes too bright. "I lacked the courage to face him that day."

General Shiharam had been a great man, but he was never coming back. In the face of the circumstances surrounding Shiharam's death, Haar had been afraid to leave Jill alone. That was when the guilt came back the strongest, to haunt dreams and daylight thoughts alike.

With Shiharam dead, Jill questioned everything she had ever believed about her life, and Haar was the only person with the patience to help her work through it.

The two of them were left to one another, in the end. By Shiharam? By fate? Two people held together by something neither of them fully understood. Maybe a little bit of Shiharam's carefully-tended grave, and a little bit of love. He didn't like to think about it very often. Maybe that was just how things had ended up.

Moving in together felt natural. It was safer to stay together. Falling into a comfortable routine, making deliveries and taking turns cooking meals: it was easy. And Haar managed to sleep at night, at least until the next war.

It was another war spent sleepless, with one letter to go on for what felt like the longest time; if he let himself think about Jill, let himself contemplate what they were to one another, it just made things worse.

After the battle that reunited them, she approached, hand stretched out to touch him. In a moment of weakness or emotion or a combination of the two, Haar pulled her to him in the tightest hug he could manage, nose pressed against her hair. He expected her to squeak in surprise or annoyance, to tease him maybe, but she just held him back, fingers latching onto the back of his shirt.

"I'm glad you're all right," she told him.

"Of course I am," was what he said, but he wanted to tug on the end of her long ponytail to tease her, or hug her again, or maybe just look at her dirt-smudged, wind-roughed face for a long, long time.

When the second war ended, Queen Micaiah ceded Talrega to Jill, and she governed the small villages like her father had—with gentle understanding and a firm hand.

Despite Jill's new duty, they picked up their old routine almost as if they had never been separated. Everything was comfortable and easy, and Haar never let himself think about their situation too intently.

But Jill was thinking of marriage. And he wasn't sure what that meant, exactly.

So, like every other difficult decision he'd been forced to make in his life, Haar decided that it would be best to sleep on it.

* * *

Jill was gone by the time Haar made his way to the kitchen the next morning. There was a note on the table in her slanted cursive telling him where she had gone and when to expect her back. It was his turn to cook, she had been sure to add at the very bottom.

Smothering a yawn, he headed back to his room to get dressed for the day, and only when he saw himself in the mirror over his bureau did he allow himself to think of what Jill had said the night before.

"_I think we should get married."_

Her words had been measured and plain. Jill was often short and to the point, but she never spoke with lack of conviction or spirit. Haar, for the first time, found himself at a complete loss.

Marriage was something he'd considered before, briefly. They had survived two wars and were living together; they felt comfortable around one another; they cooked and cleaned and shared stories about how their day had been. There was a gentle sort of affection between them, too, that had to count for something: it felt good to see Jill in the living room by the fire when he got home late, and when she was stressed, he had no reservations about rubbing her neck or shoulders for a little while to help her relax. Was marriage really such a big leap, after all that?

There was sex, of course, and the things that came along with it. Jill was attractive; Haar didn't try to deny it. She had a pretty face, and seeing her hair loose over the cushions on the sofa when she fell asleep looking at paperwork conjured up images that made their way into his dreams—dreams he almost didn't want to wake from.

Dreams made it easy. He never had second thoughts about sleeping with Jill in his dreams because it was always her idea. She straddled his lap to press her lips against his neck, or slipped into his bed…all of her own accord. He never had any doubts about what she wanted, then.

Reality was a little different. While Jill freely accepted and seemed to enjoy little gestures of affection from him—like him rubbing the knots out of her shoulders—he had no way of knowing how she really felt about him. Sometimes she would sit close to him on the sofa, or run her fingers through his hair when he started to doze off, but he cared too much about her to let any of those things be a sign that she wanted more than what they already had. Jill had developed her own opinions, but Haar felt that he still held some sway over her. As nice as sex with her was, at least in his dreams, he was afraid, deep down, to initiate anything—lest she follow after him as she always did, without consulting her own feelings on the matter, first.

It wouldn't do for them to sleep together or marry on a whim. It was possible that she would regret it, later, and that thought was much worse than letting things stay as they had been since they first moved in together. So the thought of marriage left his mind, and he contented himself with what they did have, which was not ideal, but was still enough.

Pushing his face close to the mirror above his bureau, he gave his reflection a hard look.

The Haar in the mirror stared back at him with grey hair at his temples and lines across his forehead. The patch he wore over his eye was old and worn, but the eye beneath it, scarred and so badly ruined that it stared, unseeingly, off to the side, was worse; even he had never been able to stand the sight of it. With a sigh, he rubbed his right hand over his cheek and chin; it was rough with stubble, but he didn't really feel like shaving.

"What could she be thinking?" he asked mirror-Haar.

Mirror-Haar didn't have an answer. It was a shame; he was sure Jill would want to continue the discussion that evening, and it would be nice to know exactly where she was coming from.

Certain that he would get no information from the man in the mirror, Haar gave another sigh and opened the bureau to pull out his clothes for the day. He would simply have to ask Jill herself.

* * *

Jill found Haar snoring quietly on the sofa when she returned from Luma well after dark. As determined as she was to finish her conversation with him from the night before, she decided that it would be best to let him sleep a little longer while she ate the still-warm dinner on the back of the stove.

When dinner was finished and the dishes were washed—to buy her more time to think, because it was actually Haar's turn to do them—she made herself something hot to drink, and headed to the living room with the intention of waking Haar to finish their conversation.

Instead, she wrapped both hands around her mug and sat on the arm of the sofa and watched him sleep—just for a little while.

Since she had been placed under Haar's direct command at fourteen, Jill found herself at least a little enamored with him. As the years passed, her affection didn't fade; it just grew stronger. She never questioned _why_ she felt the way she did, but suddenly she wished she understood her own feelings better; maybe then she could put into words how he made her feel.

Before she could lose her courage, she reached down to touch his hair, pushing it straight back and out of his eyes. "Wake up," she said. "I've already done the dishes."

To her surprise, he stirred, and then sat up a moment later, his hand covering his mouth as he yawned. "Welcome home," he managed to say.

The words warmed her, and she felt her lips turning up despite herself. "I was hoping we could finish our discussion from last night."

Haar swung his legs over the edge of the sofa so that he was sitting properly, but then he leaned back, one eyebrow raised. "All right."

Was he really making her start the conversation again? She supposed it was only fair, after she had sprung it on him so suddenly the night before.

"I've put a lot of thought into this, all right? Months and months. We've been back here for two years and I thought—"

She cut herself off, chewing on her lower lip.

"You care about me, don't you?" she finally managed to ask.

"Of course." His reply was instant, on the heels of hers.

"I care about you, too," she told him. "And we get along. We don't fight often. We work well together."

"Those are all true."

"So what do you think?" She didn't want to say too much without hearing his opinion—or at least part of it—first.

"Of what?" he asked. "Getting married?"

"Sure. Why are you still here, after all these years?" He was free to go and do whatever he wanted.

"Because it's comfortable," he said right away, "being here with you."

She smiled in relief; for a moment she had been afraid he would say he was still in Talrega because it was where her father's body lay. "I think it's comfortable here, too."

The smile he gave in return was slight, but he looked thoughtful. "As for marriage… You know that married people have sex, right?"

"What?" she asked, startled.

"You know," he said, looking uncomfortable, "sex? When—"

"I know what sex is!" she said, face flaming as red as her hair. "What does sex have to do with—? W-wait. Are you saying that you can't…you know?" She made an upward sweep with her hand.

Haar looked horrified. "I'm not _that_ old!"

"Well then, why did you bring it up?"

"If you're suggesting marriage, there must be a reason. I want to know what that is."

"What does that have to do with sex?"

"Look," he tried, and she could tell that he was trying to be clear, so when his words came out hesitantly, a moment later, she wasn't surprised: "You're very pretty, Jill, and I'm not going to pretend I haven't thought about sleeping with you. When two people get married, that's what they do. You're suggesting we get married. I want to know exactly how you feel about me."

She supposed that made sense. She wouldn't have suggested marriage if she wasn't interested in doing everything a marriage usually entailed, but the way she'd proposed to him the night before hadn't told him any of that.

"Well, "she admitted, quietly. "I don't know if it's love. I don't know very much about such things. I loved my father; I've no doubts about that, but it's different with you. It makes me happy to see you at the end of the day. I like our conversations, and how I feel when you touch even just my arm. I would—I'd die if I lost you, I think."

She had felt that way during the wars, especially the second one: that if Haar left her, she would have no one. She had friends, of course, but nobody was as close to her as Haar. He always knew what to say, what to do, and he never made her feel stupid.

"I guess," she hurried to finish, "that we get along so well that the next logical step would be marriage."

Haar looked surprised. "I'd be a liar if I said I didn't love you, Jill, but I'm no Count Bastian."

"I know," she said. "That's not what I want. I'll be happy with you. What do you think?"

"I think that you could do so much better than a rough-around-the-edges war veteran like myself, but who am I to argue with a woman who says she wants me?" She rolled her eyes at his tone, smiling, but he continued: "Now, I have a question for you that I'd like an answer to."

"Sure."

"Are you going to marry me or what?"

"You've no reservations?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Then my answer is yes. But I asked you first."

He gave her an amused smile. "Yes is my answer, too."

It was so stupid for them to ask each other, but in a strange way, it almost made sense. "All right. I think something simple and quiet would be nice. And soon."

"You don't want to invite your friends?"

It was her turn to shake her head. "They're busy with their own lives, and I guess I don't want a wedding fancy enough to invite them to." She had never gotten used to wearing dresses, and to wear one for a single day would be a waste of money; that kind of money would go a long way in helping one or more of the villages she represented.

"Well, I admit there is a certain appeal to keeping things simple. At least we'll be left alone when it's over. If it's simple and soon you want, we can get married as early as tomorrow."

"I have to finish business in Luma afterward, but I'll be back in plenty of time for the wedding night," she told him, "so don't worry."

"I'm not worried."

"Good. I'm going to bed early, then, and you should too, lest you sleep through the wedding." She got to her feet, took one step, and then stopped, blushing.

Haar remained seated, but he raised one eyebrow when she turned to look at him. "Yes?"

"Well, since we're going to be married tomorrow, I think…that maybe we should kiss good night."

"Ah," he said, and stood. "You're not going to cancel the wedding when you're unimpressed with it, are you?"

"No," she said, and blushed harder, sure that she couldn't be disappointed with it, but her heart thudded stupidly in her chest, and she was afraid to kiss him herself, because she knew she'd mess it up, somehow, even though the idea seemed fairly simple.

He touched the side of her face with one hand and leaned down to kiss her; it was stubble-rough but soft at the same time—just a brushing of their lips.

"That was nice," she murmured when he pulled away, and prayed that her face wasn't too red.

"I might even shave the scruff off for the wedding," he teased.

"I don't mind it." And then, clearing her throat a little, she said, "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

She made it to her bedroom door at the end of the hall before she turned to see him standing with his hand on his own doorknob. "Hey, Haar?" she tried. He was always teasing her. Couldn't she try it, too?

"Yes?" She couldn't quite gauge his expression in the dark.

"Tomorrow night, I'll keep you awake for once."

She saw the flash of his teeth as he smiled. "You might put me to sleep," he said.

"Maybe both."

"Oh?"

"I'll keep you up, exhaust you, and then you'll fall right to sleep." The thought made her laugh, because it seemed so fitting, and then Haar gave a quiet sort of chuckle, too.

"I certainly have no reservations about _that_ coming to pass," he said, and crossed the distance over to her before he pulled her into a warm hug and kissed the top of her hair. "Good night, Jill. I look forward to tomorrow."

He was halfway through the doorway of his own room before she managed to respond, feeling like she always did when he touched her: weak and warm and happy. "Me, too. Good night."


End file.
